


The Shutter Snaps

by Bun (Kymopoleia)



Series: Hold Me Tight, Or Don't [1]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, aka daniel likes photography, this is a comfort fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Bun
Summary: “Do you like that?”“Stop teasing me!”“If you didn’t like teasing, you wouldn’t have chased me down.”





	The Shutter Snaps

**Author's Note:**

> i never claimed to be a good person?
> 
> anyways, max is 19 boutta turn 20 and daniel is 28 here. thank u, these are 2 consenting adults. yaaaay.

The one interest Daniel had never lost was photography. Maybe it was silly, but he’d always had a fondness for immortalizing things. The trees as they lost their leaves, the beaches as the waves crashed into them, the beautiful ascension of children who would never lose their innocence to the world, like he had, like so many had, the way they could never recover.

For a while he’d been forced to use a phone camera, as cheap as those were, to capture these moments. Whatever imperfections and flaws of the device were inflicted upon the pictures themselves, and his favorite moments were tainted, flawed, imperfect.

But not anymore. No, now he could use a real camera again.

He grins as he pulls it from the box, marveling over each part of the tool, running his fingers over the smooth metal and plastic, feeling the thick material of the strap.

Daniel turns an eye from the camera to the room around him, realizing that this was a beautiful moment. If for no reason other than nostalgia, of course.

He’d paused in a small motel in a small town just off the highway, a nook of the world with a McDonald’s and a no-name gas station, the middle of nowhere with dusty roads and dingy glass and sad-looking people. The motel was similar, the windows dark with disuse and the bedsheets stiff and scratchy. But that was fine, Daniel had brought a large fleece blanket, drawn the curtains over the windows, and let the low golden light of a single lamp cover the whole place.

There’s dust particles floating in the light, looking like fairies in the pale gold, there’s clothing strewn over the floor that he hadn’t yet picked up, and there’s a golden skinned boy on the bed, naked and listening to Daniel’s voice over the headphones, the soft droning of the tape that the boy had come to him, so desperate to hear again.

Daniel supposed he was less of a boy now, nineteen, on the cusp of his next birthday, his limbs stretched out and his hair larger and fluffier, his teal eyes more tired, his scars more prominent. He’d found Daniel the year before on accident, stumbling into him in the back of some dark and distressing place, and when Daniel tried to turn away the boy had grabbed his wrist.

Max Arya had been the only one at that cursed camp to enter the purification sauna of his own volition.

He claimed that he wanted to escape, that he couldn’t stay home or he’d go crazy and kill himself. Daniel couldn’t have that, no no no, this boy was too perfect to die in such an impure way.

He snaps a picture of the room.

The blanket is spread unevenly. Daniel had laid it down perfectly, but Max’s rolling had gotten it wrapped around his body, curling around his right leg and resting gently over his ass, tossed the other side around his beautiful back, a pile of it around his arms and head as he rested his eyes and let his mind float away.

Daniel steps forward and to the side, focusing the camera on Max. He snaps another picture.

The lights are so beautiful against his skin, and what scars Daniel can see draw his attention. He comes closer, focusing the camera on them, on the curve of Max’s nose and how his lips slowly move along with the words, on how his eyes slowly slide open when the older man kneels on the bed.

Daniel cups Max’s cheek and snaps a picture as the boy leans into his touch. He smiles to himself and pushes the hair back, snapping a picture as the scars are revealed.

The boy had been through so much in his life, it was no wonder he’d chosen the sanctity of Zeemug and Daniel to get away from it all.

Daniel would have done it too if he was in the boy’s position.

Max rolls onto his back, the blanket slipping over his limbs and showing off more skin. “It came in?”

Daniel tugged the headphones out of the boys ears and moves the tape out of the way. “It did.”

Max nods slowly, lazily. He’s always so sleepy when he listens to the tape, so relaxed. How different from his former demeanor, always tense and stressed and distressed. Before his muscles were so tightly knit that nothing could get them to relax, now he was melting before the other man even touched him.

It was refreshing.

It was a lot of things.

Daniel leaned down and presses their lips together.

He stays there for a moment, just letting their faces be close for a moment, and feels Max shift again. The boy was still naked from earlier, other than the bandages around his wrists.

He’d been enamored with the large scars on Daniel’s wrists. From his elbow to the bottom of his thumb on each side, diagonal, ugly and large. A mark of the cult. He’d been so excited to match, to feel the pain, that even the lightheadedness that accompanied the bloodloss hadn’t been an issue. That was a month ago, but the healing process was slow and it didn’t help that the wounds kept getting reopened and picked at, Max still having trouble letting himself heal and Daniel enjoying the sight of the blood too much to stop him.

Max’s wrists rest on the pillow by his head, wrists up and fingers curling gently. Daniel grins into the kiss and deepens it slightly, moving to run his hand down Max’s side, his cold fingers against warm skin.

He’d never expected to find someone interested in the cult, interested in him. He hadn’t started it, but he’d made it better. Jen had been similar to Max, but different too. He’d found her on a bridge, ready to throw herself off, and talked her down, talked her into his arms, into the cult and into his knife. But she was too eager and bloodthirsty, taking his words and twisting them for her own purposes, twisting the knife where he would have told her to pull it out.

But Max was perfect. Everything about him, from the now-demure way he leaned into Daniel’s touch to the way he sometimes found his old spitfire. It was all perfect.

Daniel pulled back from the kiss and studies the other’s face.

“Are you in the mood?”

Max spreads his legs slowly.

“Words.” Daniel tuts.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Daniel pulls back and reaches for the camera again, capturing this moment.

“Is that all you’re going to do now? Take pictures?” Max asks.

“Not all.”

Max sighed and let his eyes close as Daniel moves, settling between his legs.

This was a normal moment. It was fine. Max was into it, and Daniel didn’t mind taking things slowly.

He hadn’t bothered to put much clothing on since they first came in, since they first began resting, so all he has to do is catch a thumb in the hem of his white sweatpants and tug them down, exposing his dick and the few tufts of dirty blonde hair.

Part of being pure, being part of the cult, was being pale. Being light. But some parts of him didn’t change, didn’t purify, but it didn’t matter. Zeemug didn’t care if his pubic hair was impure, didn’t care if his disciple was purifying slowly, not yet pale, too golden and beautiful for that.

Sometimes Daniel wondered if he was really purifying Max, or if the boy was corrupting him. Somehow he found it didn’t matter, as long as they were together.

Daniel keeps the camera aimed at the boy as he skims his palm up the other’s thigh, towards the apex of his thighs. There he rubs his thumb over the boy’s slit, feeling how wet he is, feeling the wiry tufts of hair there, too.

He pushes his thumb in deeper, slowly, past the squishy skin, and runs it down the line, over the sensitive button and slightly dipping into the hollow where he’s planning on burying something else in a moment.

The man smiles to himself, Max shifting to angle his hips toward him, into the touch.

“You like that?” Daniel asks, slipping his thumb ever so slightly deeper.

Max bit his lip to hide the small noise, turning his head to the side slightly but not breaking eye contact.

“Words?”

Max stared at him.

When he was ten, he’d talked much more, that was for sure.

Daniel leaned down and stole another kiss. “I won’t move until you say something.”

The boy’s face scrunched up and his eyebrows furrowed, his hips wiggling. Obviously he was being stubborn, and Daniel wouldn’t blame him, but at the same time he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Daniel bit the other’s lip. “Max.”

The boy relaxed under him, sighing. “Yes, fuck, I like it. Happy?”

“More happy now.” The smile he’s hiding quirks up the corner of his lips as he moves to pepper kisses down Max’s collarbone, to remove his thumb so that he could skim his middle and ring finger inside. There’s always a moment where his initial urge is to scrunch up his own nose at the texture, but then Max takes a breath and his back arches slightly, and he feels suddenly connected.

Daniel spends a few moments just focusing on this, kissing a pattern over the other’s chest as his breath hitches and his hips wriggle for more contact.

The silence other than their breathing didn’t last much longer, Max’s breathing too uneven and him becoming too desperate for more. Finally one of his wrists, which he’d been keeping by his head as if Daniel were holding them there, shoots up and he wraps his hand around the man’s shoulders, cheeks burning, and he takes a shaky breath.

“Fuck me.”

“Language,” Daniel whispers back, even as he pulls his fingers out to rub his dick, getting it fuller so that he could more easily fuck the other boy.

“Shut up.”

“You don’t want that.”

Max turns a pair of heavy lidded eyes to him, and it strikes him again, how pretty the boy is.

“No, I don’t.”

A smile catches his lips, and Daniel leans forward, both of his hands moving to cup Max’s cheeks, pressing their lips together again.

He hadn’t felt young since he was thirteen and being introduced to the leader of the cult, still full of childish spite and an unwillingness to believe. His parents killed themselves so he and his sister could “be pure again” and his sister died on her first purification mission because she couldn’t handle the murderous aspect of the cult.

But he didn’t feel nearly-but-not-quite thirty when Max pulled him down, when Max looked at him, when Max pulled those headphones into his ears and let his brain melt.

“Do you feel pure when you listen to me?” Daniel rubs the tip of his cock against Max’s slit slowly, still hovering over him, one palm resting against his cheek and the other wrapped around his own member.

Max’s breath hitches and his eyes flutter shut, but he doesn’t clamp his mouth shut again. “I…”

“Hm?”

“I do.”

“Do you like that?”

Max bucks his hips into Daniel, but the man pulls away.

“Stop teasing me!”

“If you didn’t like teasing, you wouldn’t have chased me down.” Daniel whispered.

Max turned his face to the side, exposing his neck and trying to hide his flushed cheeks.

Daniel dipped down to nip at his neck, over one of the older bruises, making a mental note to scar him there if he liked it so much. But he keeps teasing, feeling the fluttering and the wetness spreading.

“I- I like feeling pure. I like listening to you.” Max’s eyes are still open, hardly, and Daniel can see that he’s starting to melt, starting to look the way he does when he listens to the tape.

“Do you ever want to leave?”

The boy’s eyes flew open and he looked at Daniel, startled out of his reverie. “What? No- I-“

Daniel pushed inside, cutting off the words with a sputtering sound.

He watches as Max shudders, his expression changing from shock and fear back to the docile, familiar one, bliss in his face as he relaxes.

The blonde moves his hips slowly, pointedly, turning the ‘o’ shape into a coherent whimper, a pair of naked legs wrapping around him.

After the initial few thrusts, it becomes easier to build up a slow rhythm, Max shifting and blushing and leaning into his touch, lips wobbling and his body rocking into and moving in tandem with Daniel’s. They mostly lapse into silence, the blonde not wanting to stutter or say something stupid- like how beautiful Max was, how soft his hair and lips were, how pretty his eyes were, how cute his nose was, how the stretches of skin affected him, how the scars made his heart race.

He couldn’t have that, no. He couldn’t out himself like that.

If he wasn’t an unfeeling cult leader, the image would be shattered. Nevermind that he rarely threatened Max, that he only pulled the knife when he had Max squirming under him already, only a promise and not an act of violence. Nevermind that he was more prone to gentle kisses and driving slowly in the night with the windows down than ascension plots and figuring out ways to further the cult, that he had only murdered someone once, a man who had stolen the boy’s innocence and cracked it, shattered it, turned the boy into something broken and bleeding and angry, something more willing to turn to Daniel, of all people, than anyone healthy for him.

Anyone his own age.

Daniel thrust a bit harder, a bit rougher, and Max moaned openly, unable to hide it.

Max trailed his nails down the man’s back, not hard enough to scratch. In return Daniel scratched up his thighs, from his hips to his knees, stark light lines that hastily turned to angry red welts.

This felt like an apt description of them. Max was good, and Daniel wasn’t. There wasn’t much to it other than that.

Daniel rolls them after a minute, with no warning, so that he’s holding Max to his chest and rocking up into him, and the boy leans back a bit to see the man better.

The boy was made of so many curving lines where Daniel was made of angular ones, from their hair, with Max’s curls and Daniel’s straight ‘do, to their bodies. Max had the slightest swell of fat on his stomach, his chest, his thighs, his ass, his still-childish cheeks, and Daniel was all hard lines and hollows, creating holes for Max to fill.

But in that same sense, Max was the one shifting to ride him, moving one bandaged wrist to rest on his chest and the other to push his hair out of his face, cheeks heating up even more as Daniel watches him.

Daniel catches his hand and moves it to his own mouth, sucking on his fingers.

“You’re disgusting- you don’t know where they’ve been.” Max whispers, rolling his hips.

“Inside you? Inside me? Rolling around these sheets?” Daniel replies, pressing a kiss to the tip of Max’s middle finger. “Do you think I mind?”

If it was possible for the boy to become any redder, he did then.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re into it.”

Max leaned down and ran his wet fingers down Daniel’s chest, biting his bottom lip.

Daniel’s heart beat quicker despite himself, his hips reacting without his consent.

“So are you.”

A laugh bubbles out of Daniel’s chest at the words, and he catches Max’s head, holding him down for a deep kiss.

They stay like that for a while, lips moving together as Max moves, as their bodies mesh and roll and sweat, until Daniel gets tired and pulls back. He slides his fingers down to Max’s crotch and fingers him, three fingers hooked inside and his thumb rubbing Max’s clit relentlessly, until the boy spasms and moans, pressing his face to the blonde’s shoulder.

At the same time, he uses his other hand to wrap around his own cock, using the wetness still there as lube.

Max lets him do most of the work, moving to rest a hand on Daniel’s hip gently, letting his eyes flutter shut.

When Daniel cums it’s while staring at Max’s face, biting his lip gently. Max had cum a moment before, breathing heavily as Daniel just rests his hand there, not removing it but not moving to overstimulate him either.

Max rubs his thumb over Daniel’s hip, and Daniel smiles.

“You sore yet?”

“You wish.”

Daniel snorted.

He leaned forward and snagged another kiss, still gentle, still messy. There’s flecks of cum on the blanket between them, up Max’s chest, several splattered pointedly over his messy thighs and bandaged wrists. Daniel would have to change those soon, and then either he or Max would probably be too interested in seeing the red color, and then the cut would be reopened. This wasn’t healthy for either of them, just making the scar messier and uglier.

But they were too enraptured to care. Too enamored to mind. Too in love to give a fuck.

And though Daniel wouldn’t say it, he thinks this is what love is. Hiding in motels all over the country, fucking like they don’t have anything else to do, rediscovering everything that made them _them_ and forgetting everything they didn’t want to remember. Kissing gently and talking softly and smiling when they’re actually looking at each other, showering together and sleeping together and trusting each other.

He’s sure that the cult is against it.

Daniel kisses Max.

Somehow he doesn’t care.

Max kisses his shoulder as he leans a breath closer, so beautiful, golden in the low lighting.

Daniel, remembering what’d started this whole conversation, wipes a hand on the blanket, reaching clumsily for his camera. He aims it at Max, the boy lazily opening one eye, and the shutter snaps.


End file.
